


Heavy Impact

by greygerbil



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, motorcycle accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Victor is watching his parents' house when he gets an unexpected visitor who is in need of his help.
Relationships: Victor Nikiforov/Georgi Popovich
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Rare Ships!!! on BINGO 2020





	Heavy Impact

**Author's Note:**

> Rare Ships On Bingo prompt was: Hot Drinks.

Victor jumped when the doorbell rang, a sound that was as entirely unexpected as a voice from upstairs in the empty house would have been. It was past midnight and his parents’ villa stood at the very edge of St. Petersburg, surrounded by its own expansive lands, with the city proper a cluster of lights in the distance. A confused drunk or giggling teenagers playing pranks would hardly end up here. But what could anyone want at this time of night? Robbers wouldn’t ring the doorbell, right? Maybe they wanted to check if anyone was home?

Clutching the remote in his hand, Victor was tempted to ignore it. He’d been half-asleep already, the TV just background noise by this point, stretched out on the couch in his pyjamas. He’d never liked being here and though the major reason for that were certainly his parents, the house was intimidating all on its own even when he was alone. He felt the hair on his arms rising.

The bell rang again. Makkachin, who had only raised his head before, now stirred under his feet and then jumped down on the floor, looking expectantly at Victor.

“I guess we have to take a look,” Victor muttered, cursing himself for allowing his mother to make him house-sit at all. He could have been at home tonight instead of dealing with whatever this was.

The heavy wooden double doors did not have a spyhole, but there was a grainy, grey picture on a screen next to them where the security camera over the porch delivered its footage.

A man stood in front of the door, huddled against it. It took Victor a moment to recognise Georgi, not because the image quality was bad, but because there was no reason at all for him to be out here now, or really at all.

Victor opened the door and was almost blown away by a howling gust of wind carrying wet snow.

“Get in!” he shouted.

Georgi did and Victor forced the wing of the door shut behind him. The sudden quiet was just as deafening as the storm. Georgi stood in the middle of the vestibule, looking worried as he dripped on to the thick red carpet. Makkachin licked the tips of his fingers. They were blue, just like his lips.

“Sorry,” Georgi said. He stuttered and was shuddering all over.

Victor stared at him. “What happened to you?”

Georgi looked a mess, not only wet but frozen in parts, where his long, dishevelled braid, his jeans and his coat had gotten caked in snow and grown stiff. On one side, his clothes were torn and scuffed. There was bloody, open skin at his knee and he was only wearing one glove.

“The storm surprised me,” Georgi said. “I was on my motorcycle coming back from Kar'yer Myaglovo. There was a patch of ice, I think, and I crashed. I couldn’t get my bike to work again.” He rubbed the back of his hand over his face. “I remembered you said you’d be home this weekend and it was the closest place I knew...”

They were both eighteen now, since just a few days ago, but Georgi had been driving his old motorcycle since the day he turned sixteen. He’d taken Victor home after practice a few times, since they were going the same way. Victor liked it too much, getting to put his arms around Georgi’s middle and placing his chin on Georgi’s shoulder to joke around with him before they put the helmets on. Georgi had never complained about it. Victor still wondered about that, though he knew it probably meant nothing other than that Georgi had been around him for long enough to be comfortable. He’d have been disappointed about the motorcycle probably meetings its end if the sight of Georgi hadn’t made him feel queasy with worry.

Trying to shake off the shock, he took the helmet Georgi was clutching and tugged Makkachin back by his collar so he’d give Georgi a little room.

“You need to take off your clothes,” he decided.

Georgi nodded his head and began stripping. Victor scuffed his feet on the ground, then gestured at Georgi to wait and darted up the stairs. He hadn’t lived in his childhood bedroom in four years, but he still kept a few clothes here for when he came to visit. He grabbed the thickest sweater he could find, an older knitted piece that had been fashionable a couple of years ago, and tight black sweatpants as well as briefs and a pair of thick socks he would usually wear when his skate boots left sores on his feet.

When he went downstairs, Georgi had found the guest bathroom. He stood there holding a pile of wet clothes before him and gently pushing away Makkachin, who was curiously sniffing at him. Since he was naked now, Victor saw that the scrape on his knee wasn’t the only damage. There were bruises forming on his left hip and right shoulder, big football-sized ones, and more scratches and purple-blue spots, too.

“Here,” Victor said, giving the clothes to him alongside a towel he grabbed from the top of the perfectly white shelf. “Wait, don’t get dressed yet.”

“But it’s cold,” Georgi said plaintively.

Victor turned the heater up as high as it would go.

“You got hurt, though. We need to check the wounds.”

Georgi pressed his face into the towel and nodded his head.

“Maybe I should take a shower first,” Georgi said, pulling at the skin on his knee. There was dirt stuck in the raw flesh.

“Okay. I’ll get a first aid kit. I think there’s one under the kitchen sink.”

He’d used them before to treat small injuries from practice and Georgi didn’t seem to have gotten seriously hurt, but Victor was still nervous as he dug between the maid’s cleaning supplies for the kit. Would it be better to call an ambulance? Could they even get out here in this weather?

As Victor sat on the couch, nervously carding his hands through Makkachin’s fur, Georgi returned, wearing only the briefs, his long black hair falling open down to his waist. He’d said he would probably cut it soon and Victor wouldn’t have minded if he weren’t pretty sure it was because Georgi disliked being compared to him in any way.

“Did you hit your head when you crashed?” Victor asked. “Maybe you need to go to the hospital.”

Georgi shook his head as he sat down next to him.

“No, I fell on my shoulder. The bike didn’t land on top of me, either. I guess I was lucky.”

From the sudden, wide-eyed look of fear that crossed his face, it seemed like Georgi only just realised how close he’d come to actually dying. Victor figured that was what shock did to you.

“You can say that again. You could have been unconscious in the street. Someone might have run you over.”

Victor took Georgi’s arm, checking the bruises and scrapes, dabbing them with the disinfectant-soaked cotton pad in his hand. Georgi made a face, but said nothing. 

“Did you just leave your bike there?”

“I dragged it into the ditch so no one would crash into it. I didn’t have any money left on my phone but there wasn’t reception to call anyone, anyway.” Georgi sighed, grabbing a band-aid out of the kit to put it over one of the smaller cuts Victor had cleaned. “I’ll have to deal with that tomorrow.”

Victor worked his way across Georgi’s bare body. It was sort of exciting even though he was still a bit worried Georgi might have a concussion. His eyes looked normal, though, not unsteady. His lips were only a little grey anymore.

When he was done, Georgi grabbed a bandage and started wrapping his knee. Victor sat on the couch for a moment, not feeling very useful.

“Oh,” he said, as a sudden very obvious idea struck him. “I should make tea!”

“I’d like tea,” Georgi said.

As he waited for the water cooker in the kitchen, Victor found raspberry jam in the cupboard. He dumped a spoonful into the mug with the tea bag.

When he returned, Georgi was dressed in Victor’s clothes and had acquired Makkachin, hugging him with both arms for warmth. He looked miserable, which made Victor feel bad, but he still guiltily stored the image away. It was very easy to imagine Georgi was his boyfriend in that moment.

He placed the tea down on the couch table.

“At least you didn’t break anything in the middle of the season.”

Georgi lifted his face out of Makkachin’s fur.

“True. Yakov would have killed me if I’d gotten seriously hurt driving in a storm.”

“Why the hell would you do that in the first place?”

“I didn’t realise the weather would get so bad. I was visiting my aunt’s grave out of town.”

“You should have looked at the forecast. They’ve been saying there’d be a storm all day.”

“But I haven’t been there for a while and I wouldn’t be able to make it next week with practice for Europeans. I felt bad.”

That was Georgi, he supposed. Loyal like the dog in his arms even to a dead person. Victor didn’t say anything, since it had still been a bad idea, but he thought it was somehow sweet. He liked Georgi for that and too many other things.

Georgi sat against the armrest of the sofa.

“I still have to do something with the bike. I can’t just leave it there.” He frowned. “It’s probably beyond repair, though. It looked bad.”

“It was beyond repair before,” Victor said, raising a brow. “I mean, you probably wouldn’t even have crashed if your wheels weren’t so run down. You should buy a new one.”

“I can’t afford a new one,” Georgi said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And now I’ll have to get this one towed.”

Unlike Victor, Georgi’s family had never had that much money. When he was younger, when his father had had his last steady job, there’d been enough to sent him to junior classes, which led to Georgi winning his first medals and fleeting attention from the Federation. There was a bit of financial support and price money that took over from when his parents couldn’t pay for most stuff anymore.

Nowadays, Victor was probably the biggest obstacle to Georgi earning more. He took the gold medals on national and international levels and the lion share of the sponsorships. He’d often wondered if Georgi ever thought about that and if it made him angry, considering Victor was already set for life even if his parents decided to cut him off, thanks to an inheritance from a childless uncle. However, right now Georgi was just staring into space as he chewed the nail of his thumb, not focusing on Victor at all.

“You get money from the Fed, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Georgi said, looking at his feet.

“What about that, then?”

Georgi picked up the tea and wrapped his hands around it. “My parents stopped helping me out with the apartment,” he admitted quietly.

Victor looked at him in surprise. Georgi’s family didn’t live in St. Petersburg anymore, but Georgi had been allowed to stay here with Yakov, as he’d already been a successful juniors skater by the time they had moved.

“Really? When?”

“They said it’s not a good career and besides – well, it’s pointless because I’ll always be in the same competitions as you. They stopped early last season since I didn’t win anything.”

Last season, Georgi had grown six inches over the late summer and lost his triple Axel and quad Salchow, but he’d still clung to bronze nationally and had stabilised by the times Worlds came around. It hadn’t been his best season by any means, but he’d soldiered through. This season, he’d already won gold at the Trophée de France and at the Autumn Classic in Canada – though, of course, never against Victor.

“Did you tell Yakov?”

“No, I don’t want him to babysit me,” Georgi muttered, sipping his tea. “I was already sixteen, after all. I am eighteen now. I’m an adult, I have to solve my own problems. Besides, I...”

He stopped himself.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You know I won’t stop asking.”

Georgi exhaled loudly, theatrically, but his annoyance didn’t deter Victor, who just kept looking at him.

“I didn’t know if he wouldn’t tell me it was better to quit,” Georgi admitted, after a long moment.

“That’s stupid,” Victor said. “If Yakov didn’t want you around, he’d tell you, anyway.”

“You don’t know. Maybe he figures as long as I’m still young and doing it for fun, it’d be fine. When it could get me in trouble, he might not want to be responsible for it.”

“Yakov doesn’t waste his time,” Victor insisted. “You shouldn’t stop skating, anyway.”

Georgi cocked his head at him. “I didn’t expect that from you.”

Victor frowned. “Why not?”

“Because you’ve _told_ me to stop skating before.”

Victor opened his mouth, closed it again, and cursed himself. Maybe he’d have been a little less brash if he’d realised that Georgi was holding on by the skin of his teeth like that.

“I didn’t,” he insisted. “I just said that you probably will have to quit if you can’t get your quad back and stuff like that. You did get it back.”

“That’s still not a nice thing to say,” Georgi murmured into his tea, half-smiling for some reason Victor couldn’t figure out. “Well, I guess you’re never nice to me.”

“I’m not less nice to you than to other people. You’re just around a lot, making mistakes,” Victor protested.

“Thanks,” Georgi said sarcastically.

“Other people make mistakes. I just don’t skate on the same rink as them.”

Georgi snorted and downed another mouthful of tea.

“I guess you’re nice to me now,” he amended.

“Really? You have weird standards. It’d have been kind of a psychopath thing to do to leave you outside,” Victor said.

“You didn’t need to make tea and patch me up.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Not for the first time, Victor wondered if Georgi knew that Victor had a crush on him, if he was pointing it out, but for someone who could be so emotional, he had a really good poker face sometimes.

“I wouldn’t have said those things if I’d known,” Victor added, after a moment. “You could have told me. I wouldn’t have gone to Yakov with it.”

Georgi stared at the muted television, which was playing some old black-and-white movie.

“Don’t you believe me?” Victor pressed.

“I do. I guess I just really didn’t want you going easy on me, either. Not out of pity. It would have been weird.” He shrugged. “You’ve always been that way. I don’t know, it’d be like Yakov not criticising you after you get off the ice in a competition.”

Victor huffed. “That would be weird,” he agreed, and then, with a bit of a smile: “I guess you just take abuse well if you still schedule practice with me on top of that.”

Georgi smacked him on the shoulder. He looked amused and Victor felt deep relief.

“You know,” he said, looking at Georgi’s drink, “we should deal with problems like adults, then, since we’re eighteen now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Alcohol,” Victor said brightly, vaulting over the back of the couch. “We still have mulled wine here. I just need to heat it up.”

Georgi laughed.

The bottle was still in the cupboard where Victor had last seen it digging for something to eat for dinner. His parents wouldn’t miss it and if they did, he’d just buy a new one. The sleek induction cooktop heated the wine in the pot in no time and Victor carried it back in two mugs, smelling sweet red wine, anise, and cinnamon.

Georgi had curled into the corner of the sofa, but looked a little less beaten down than before. He took the cup from Victor with a nod.

“I was thinking about your bike,” Victor said, when they’d both taken their first mouthful of hot wine. “There’s a trailer in my parents’ garage. They use it for the horses. We could put it behind my car and bring your bike to the scrapyard or wherever in the morning. At least you wouldn’t have to pay to get it towed.”

Georgi sipped from his wine again, looking at Victor over the rim of his cup. His deep blue eyes filled with tears so quickly that Victor didn’t even realise he was about to cry until tears rolled down his cheeks.

Victor could only stare at him. Georgi sniffed and put the wine aside and then hugged Victor without any warning, almost knocking Victor’s mug out of his hand. He just about managed to not drop it on himself as Georgi squeezed him tightly. As quickly as he could, spilling hot liquid over his fingers, Victor placed the mug down on the couch table, too, and held Georgi close, heart beating almost out of his chest.

“Sorry,” Georgi said, sitting back after what seemed like too little time, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’d be great if we could collect my bike.”

“You haven’t really had enough wine yet to already be crying like this.”

Georgi smiled weakly. “It’s just that I haven’t told anyone about my family and the apartment and everything. Not even Olga. You’ll keep it a secret, right?”

“Of course.”

Olga was Georgi’s ex-girlfriend, who’d caused a fair few tears earlier this summer as well. Georgi was still smiling at Victor, though, sitting with his hands laying on Victor’s shoulders, in Victor’s loose embrace.

Victor kissed Georgi, maybe because it felt like the only chance he would ever get. Georgi sat motionless. He didn’t move away, but he also didn’t lean into him.

After a few silent, still seconds, Victor pulled back. Georgi looked dumbfounded.

Maybe he hadn’t known about Victor’s crush, after all.

Victor let go off him, gathered his hands in his laps and stared at Makkachin instead, who watched him with his usual good mood, tongue hanging out of his mouth. Victor didn’t think he’d ever been so embarrassed in his life.

Georgi sniffed, wiped more tears away.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said.

“No, it’s fine. I – liked that just now.”

Victor turned back to him, his stomach in knots. Georgi reached for his arm. His hand was still cold but his mouth was warm as he pressed it on Victor’s. Victor could barely breathe. Georgi shivered a little as Victor’s hand settled on his side. He let Victor pull him back into his arms.

“I’m really exhausted,” he said, pulling his head back. “I don’t think I can right now.”

It took Victor a second to even understand what Georgi was talking about.

“I didn’t want to have sex with you. What do you think of me?” he asked, insulted. “You just got into an accident.”

Georgi had to smile. “I might have said yes if you’d asked,” he said, looking up at him through lashes that looked even darker when wet with the tears.

“Really?” Victor swallowed. “I thought you said you always went slow.”

“I’ve known you since we were eight.”

“True.”

That was how Victor was in love with him, after all. They’d already seen just about the best and worst of each other.

He kind of did want to have sex now, but Georgi looked tired and was still crying a little, which softened his mood quickly.

“Let’s just stay here on the couch and watch TV,” Victor said. 

“Yes.”

Georgi handed Victor his mug of wine back, taking his own in his hands. After a moment’s consideration, he leaned into Victor, which made Victor feel warm all over.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“Where else would you go?” Victor asked, raising a brow. “Walk back into the city? There’s guest bedrooms and everything, of course you are staying.”

Georgi gave a nod, but it looked hesitant.

“What is it?” Victor asked.

Georgi frowned into his mug. “Thank you. It’s just, this house looks like it has ghosts.”

Victor grinned. “It does,” he admitted. “You can sleep in my room if you want to.”

Georgi nodded his head again, his damp hair rubbing against Victor’s shoulder.

Victor wasn’t sure what this would be in the morning, but if he got to wake up next to Georgi, then it would be fine.


End file.
